


No Sweeter Agony

by plutonianshores



Series: No Sweeter Agony [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Blood Kink, Canon Era, Choking, Gun Kink, Knifeplay, M/M, Sex Pollen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/pseuds/plutonianshores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from the Les Mis kink meme:<br/>A National Guard officer, seeking to discredit Enjolras, slips him sex pollen and then all of the National Guard take turn fucking Enjolras, who enjoys it and hates it both at the same time.<br/>+they do it in a public place, in front of the people that support Enjolras<br/>+++all kinds of kinks except scat and vore-- so give me bloodplay, rimming, daddy kink etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Sweeter Agony

**Author's Note:**

> This fic also contains internalized victim-blaming, (unfulfilled) threats of grievous bodily harm/castration, and some suicidal thinking on Enjolras's part.

As usual, Enjolras was the last to leave the meeting. Unlike usual, he could barely hold out for that long. Within an hour of stepping through the door, his head had begun to spin, and by the end of the night, he had to keep a death grip on the table merely to stay upright. His face burned, and his skin crawled, and he had never looked forward to stepping out into the cool night air more.

When the door of the café burst open, it took him a long while to register what was going on—so long that by the time he realized the men swarming in wore the uniforms of the National Guard, one of them had already seized his arm.

“You have no right to lay hands on me!” he tried to say, but the words swam together, and the soldier’s hand felt like it was searing his skin.

“You’re the leader here?” The man’s face was far too close to his own, breath cool against his burning skin. Enjolras tried and failed to speak again, and settled for a defiant nod. He wanted to pull away, but somehow found himself standing still, entirely too conscious of the hand on his wrist. The man leaned closer and kissed him, and despite the panic and the disgust Enjolras found himself kissing back. A hand slapped his ass and he yelped, drawing laughs from the crowd.

Oh, Lord, there was a crowd. Enjolras strained to see who had gathered, and saw only the bright uniforms of the National Guard. _Please, let the others have left already,_ he prayed.

“Let him go!” Combeferre’s voice echoed through the room, and Enjolras wanted to die.

“Don’t worry, he’s enjoying himself.” The officer pulled Enjolras’s head back with a vicious tug at his hair. “Aren’t you?”

Enjolras tried to say no, but the words caught in his throat. Part of him _was_ enjoying this (the rapidly growing bulge in his trousers testified to that), and the soldier’s hands on him brought a thrill of pleasure along with the waves of disgust.

Something cold brushed the skin of his face, and Enjolras flinched away when he realized what it was. “Tell your friends you’re enjoying this,” the soldier murmured as he traced the barrel of his pistol down Enjolras’s face, voice low and dangerous and sending a shiver that was one part fear, two parts anticipation through Enjolras.

“Yes.” He hated himself for the wavering assent that left his mouth, even as he realized that the others would never blame him. Because they might think he was being threatened now, but soon enough they’d see that he _was_ enjoying this, on some level.

“Good boy.” The barrel came to rest on his lips. “Show us what that mouth’s good for, then.”

Enjolras opened his mouth and began to suck almost unconsciously, and his face burned when he heard the comments about how this couldn’t be his first time. His mouth tasted of iron and gunpowder, and his heart raced so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear anything except the scrape of the man’s thumb dragging over the metal.

Finally, he pulled the gun away, and Enjolras staggered backwards. He found himself pressed against another soldier, who grabbed him by the hips and began to grind against him. Enjolras wanted to struggle away, but somehow he ended up squirming into the man’s movements, groaning.

“You like that, do you?” He bit at Enjolras’s ear, and the pain at least brought some clarity to his mind. He managed to summon up the willpower to whisper, “No.”

The man with the gun pulled him forward by his shirt. “Are we not good enough for you?” When Enjolras didn’t answer, he yanked him forward again, until their lips were nearly touching, and said, “If you’d rather, we can invite your friends over.”

“No!” Enjolras gasped. The next thing he knew, his nose was crunching beneath the man’s fist.

“Then be a good boy and get on your knees.”

Enjolras spat the blood from his mouth, and obeyed. His nose throbbed, and he could feel blood dripping from it, warm and wet. The man tugged his cock free from his trousers and pressed it to Enjolras’s lips, tightening his grip on Enjolras’s hair until he opened his mouth.

The taste of it, combined with the iron tang of the blood, made Enjolras gag, but the man only forced himself further into his mouth. Enjolras struggled in vain against the hand at the back of his head, trying to gasp for air around the cock shoved down his throat.

Just when Enjolras had convinced himself he’d pass out like this, the soldier pulled back, leaving him to fall to his hands and gasp for breath.

“You can do better than that.” A kick aimed for his chest made Enjolras cry out. “Don’t make me get rough with you, hmm?”

This time, he moved more slowly, and underneath the panic, Enjolras felt a rush of pleasure as the man began to thrust. Instinctively, he began to suck, and the soldier patted his head approvingly. Enjolras shut his eyes and tried desperately to keep his hands at his sides rather than stroking his now painfully hard cock.

“There you go.” He caressed Enjolras’s face gently, making him gasp. But the gentle grasp soon turned harder as the man began to fuck Enjolras’s face, finally spending in his mouth.

He held Enjolras’s face against him until he swallowed, gagging at the salty taste sliding down his throat and the cock pressed further inside of him than he would have thought possible. Before he’d regained his breath, Enjolras found himself pulled to his feet.

“Who’s next?”

Someone grabbed him from behind and yanked him around, pressing a kiss to his mouth. It was so easy to shut his eyes and part his lips for the man’s probing tongue, even as the feel of hands creeping under his shirt made Enjolras feel sick. He mustered every bit of his strength to break through the fog his mind was trapped in, and bit down as hard as he could manage.

His mouth filled with blood, and the man yelped and pulled away. Enjolras grinned and spat more blood onto the floor. Even the slap to his face that wrenched his head sideways didn’t weaken his sense of triumph.

“That was rude,” the man snarled. Enjolras braced himself for another blow, but instead found himself pulled forward. The bite had taken everything he had, and when the man sat down at the edge of the table, Enjolras let himself be dragged across his lap with no resistance. Rough hands at his waist tugged his trousers down, and Enjolras hadn’t thought it was possible to feel more ashamed, but apparently he’d been mistaken. At least when fully clothed, he’d been able to convince himself that his arousal was unnoticeable. Now, there was no pretending that the gathered crowd couldn’t see how hard he was.

A hand slapped his bare ass, barely hard enough to sting, and Enjolras let out an embarrassing, undignified whimper, to the delight of the man holding him.

“You like that, do you?” The soldier punctuated his question with another slap, harder this time. While Enjolras’s last reaction might have been able to be passed off as a cry of pain, his moan this time most definitely couldn’t. The only coherent thought Enjolras could manage was that this was so, so wrong. This wasn’t the way things were meant to happen. He’d known from the beginning that there was a chance he would be captured, that he would have to bear horrible tortures at the hands of the National Guard or someone like them, but this was _wrong_. He couldn’t grit his teeth and put up with the torment when each blow sent a shameful thrill of pleasure through him along with the pain. How could he look any of his friends in the eye again when they’d seen him sprawled across a stranger’s lap, squirming and red-faced with arousal?

Before long, any thoughts beyond raw sensation slipped from his head. Just as Enjolras thought he couldn’t bear any more of the blows rained down upon him, they stopped. Enjolras only had a moment of respite before the man began to caress him, touch like fire against the sore skin. He found himself stammering out, “Please, please,” although God only knew what he was begging for. The soldier took it as a cue to keep slapping him, and after a few more hits, Enjolras spent himself across the man’s legs with a moan. His head cleared for a moment, long enough to register the jeers and the shame rushing back into him.

The soldier slapped him again. “You’ll have to clean up the mess you made.” When Enjolras didn’t respond, he began to shove him off. “Go on, get on your knees.”

Enjolras’s stomach sank as he realized what he was meant to do. But his body had a will of his own, and he found himself kneeling on the ground, lips pressed to the man’s now-stained trousers. A hand wound possessively through his hair, and through his shame, he felt himself growing hard again. Lord, what was wrong with him? He deserved everything that had happened to him, if this was how he reacted to being forced into such demeaning acts. He soon found his head guided to the man’s cock, and well, at least this wasn’t anything new. This one was gentler than the first, for all his crude words, and Enjolras was almost able to forget what was happening. (He hated himself for it, how easy he was able to forget the horror, but at least he wasn’t choking, and the others were content to watch from afar.)

When the man spent himself, Enjolras swallowed without prompting, drawing an approving pat on the head. He could almost let himself believe this nightmare was over, before he felt someone grab him from behind, shoving him face-first onto the table.

Hands forced his legs apart, and Enjolras braced himself for what was to follow. However, instead of the pain he was anticipating, a single finger slid inside of him, almost gently. It hit something that made him gasp with pleasure and thrust up into the probing motions, and God, he almost would have preferred the bastards fuck him dry. At least he might not have enjoyed himself so much that way. And there was no doubt that he was enjoying this—his whimpers and desperate twitching attested to that. The man behind Enjolras stroked the small of his back with one hand, whispering things that made him feel both sick and desperately aroused.

“Who would have thought that the valiant Enjolras would turn out to be such a slut?” The man slipped a second finger inside of him, and a need for more nearly overwhelmed his shame. “Practically begging for it. You’re beautiful like this.” Enjolras whimpered.

“Get on with it!” another voice shouted.

The man stopped his motions. “Would you like that?”

“Please,” Enjolras whispered, not even sure anymore what he was begging for.

“You can do better than that.” He slapped Enjolras, drawing another whimper. “Go on, ask me for my prick.”

“Please…I want you inside of me.” The words left his mouth through clenched teeth, bitter on his tongue, but Enjolras ached for this, and he couldn’t hold them back. The man thrust into him, rough enough to make him scream.

“Stop!” It took Enjolras a moment to register the voice as Jean Prouvaire’s, and he nearly missed the small whispered “Please” that followed.

“Oh, but he doesn’t want me to. Do you?” The man marked his question with a particularly brutal thrust, and still Enjolras couldn’t stop himself from saying, “No.”

“What was that?”

“Don’t stop!” Enjolras gasped, tears welling in his eyes. His voice sounded alien to his own ears, wavering and desperate. He was painfully aware now that the others were still watching, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking up at them. Enjolras wasn’t sure what he wanted (comfort, or to beg them to look away, or to apologize, or something else entirely), but it only made things worse. There were so many pairs of horrified eyes staring at him, and Lord, how could they ever look at him the same way after seeing him like this? Courfeyrac was all white-knuckled anger, with Combeferre, face gone stone-hard, holding him steady. Prouvaire, face pale as a ghost, was crying, and looked close to fainting—and Enjolras decided it was far better to go back to ignoring their presence. Surely there couldn’t be much more to bear. (He couldn’t bring himself to think about what would happen after this had all ended.) Surely it would grow easier to ignore their gasps when he screamed, to forget that his dearest friends were bearing witness to his humiliation.

He nearly sobbed with relief as he felt the man spend himself inside of him, only to feel a new pair of hands grab him soon after.

This couldn’t be worse than the last time, Enjolras told himself, but then the new man began to push his cock inside of him, and oh Lord, he was _huge_. Enjolras tried to bite back his scream (he’d given up on preserving his own dignity, but his friends had suffered enough without listening to his cries.) But he felt near to being split in two, and the man kept pressing into him, and even biting down on his hand didn’t muffle his cries entirely.

Finally, the motion stopped, and Enjolras almost sobbed with relief before the man began to thrust. The worst of it was that, even with the pain, Enjolras couldn’t stop himself from meeting the man thrust for thrust, and scrabbling against the table for friction like a fucking dog. He must look pathetic.

The man apparently agreed, as Enjolras soon found a meaty hand wrapped around his cock. “Fucking slut,” the man growled as Enjolras spilled himself into his palm. Enjolras yelped as the man slapped the hand against his ass, marking him with his own filth, and began to sob.

“Someone shut him up!” Before Enjolras could muffle his tears, another man stepped in front of him, and all Enjolras could do was open his mouth for him and pray he would finish quickly.

He spent what felt like an eternity trapped between the two of them, alternately choking on the one’s cock or thrust back and impaled on the other. Through it all, the soldiers kept up a steady refrain of slurs, calling him a slut and a whore and taunting him for his eagerness to be fucked. Enjolras couldn’t even tell himself they were wrong—his every nerve burned with pleasure as well as pain, and if his mouth weren’t stuffed full, there was every chance he’d be begging for more instead of crying for an end to this.

The man behind finished first, spilling himself into Enjolras with a grunt and pulling out so quickly he ached at the emptiness. The second man withdrew soon after, painting Enjolras’s face with his seed. _Please, God, let it be over_. His heart sank when yet another set of hands grabbed his ass, prompting him to roll over.

Before Enjolras could manage to bring the man standing over him into focus, he felt the cool edge of a knife against his throat, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care. All it would take was a hairsbreadth less distance between the blade and his neck, and that would be that. With a well-timed jerk, he could finish this himself. Hadn’t he always wanted to die a martyr?

 _And what kind of martyr would you make, half-naked and hard and sticky with another man’s come?_ If they killed him, so be it, but bringing death upon himself would be cowardice. Still, Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed when instead of cutting deeper, the soldier traced the edge of the knife down his neck, barely hard enough to break the skin. He stopped at the collar of Enjolras’s shirt, then hooked the blade beneath it to slice through the cloth. The room was dead silent save the sound of ripping fabric, and when the man finished his task, Enjolras couldn’t keep himself from shuddering at the sudden feeling of exposure.

“Aren’t you a pretty sight?”

Enjolras hissed as the man drew the knife down his chest, drawing a line of blood.

“Oi, Gagnon! Leave some of him for the rest of us,” someone called from the side of the room. “I don’t want to be left fucking a corpse.”

“Don’t worry,” the man with the knife snapped. “I won’t kill him.” But his next cut was deeper, and ran further down. He grinned at Enjolras’s pained whimpers, and brought the tip of the knife to a rest at the base of his cock.

“No!” Enjolras gasped.

“I’d heard you were chaste,” the man said. “Surely you wouldn’t miss it too much, if it was a choice between your prick and your life.”

“No, please…”

“Enough!” Enjolras recognized the voice as that of the first man who’d taken him, someone he’d never thought he would be thankful to. Scowling, the man wiped the blade of his knife against Enjolras’s thigh, and slid it back into its sheath.

“You should thank my captain for the pleasure you’re about to feel,” he muttered as he thrust into Enjolras. Slick as he was from the men who’d had him before, it didn’t even hurt. Enjolras found himself bucking up to match the man’s motions, even as the movement made the cuts on his torso sting. The man smirked, holding him down by the hips.

Slowly but surely, his hands crept up Enjolras’s body, until they were resting at the base of his neck. Then, without warning, the man pressed down, cutting off his breath.

Enjolras gasped for air and clawed at the man’s hands, to no avail. His head swam, and black dots played across his vision, and to his great shame, he felt himself growing hard again. The man loosened his grip for a moment, only to press down harder and begin thrusting into him in earnest. Just as he thought he would surely die like this, Enjolras felt himself spill across his stomach, the liquid burning as it met the lacerations there. The man released his hold on Enjolras’s neck, gave a quiet gasp, and spent into him.

“I told you I wouldn’t kill him,” Enjolras heard the man say as he hitched up his trousers and walked away.

The rest of the night was a blur of pain, and pleasure, and degradations that began to feel unremarkable. Enjolras couldn’t even remember who the last man to fuck him was—somewhere during the course of the night, he lost awareness of what was happening, and the next thing he could remember was sitting in a tub full of warm water in Courfeyrac’s apartment, a friendly hand wiping at his face.

“You need to hold still,” Combeferre murmured, gingerly touching Enjolras’s nose. “I don’t want to injure you further.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Combeferre paused. “Hmm?”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said louder, wincing at the way his throat rasped. “You had to watch all of those men fuck me like a dog, and I _enjoyed_ it—”

“You were drugged!” He hadn’t seen Courfeyrac standing in the doorway, although of course he would be here.

“I…drugged?”

“Some sort of concoction meant to heighten pleasure.” Combeferre looked very much like he wanted to kill someone. “Prouvaire recognized the symptoms first, although it was Grantaire who told us the specifics.”

“We think they wanted to discredit you,” Courfeyrac said, looking sick.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? How can I lead a group who saw me debased and defiled in front of them, moaning like a whore and covered in—” As if he hadn’t been shamed enough, Enjolras dissolved into sobs, unable to finish.

“You were drugged,” Courfeyrac said again.

“And even if you hadn’t been, none of us would have blamed you,” Combeferre added gently. “It was a monstrous thing, what they did to you, and no reaction on your part could change that.” He dipped the rag he was holding into the water, and began to clean Enjolras’s face.

“I can do that!” Enjolras grabbed the cloth away, hissing at the pain the sudden movement brought. Combeferre sat back, taking his anger in stride. As Enjolras began to scrub at his skin, he saw Courfeyrac creep out of the room (too ashamed to look at him any longer, part of Enjolras said.)

“I’m just going to…fetch some…I’ll be back later,” he muttered when he caught Enjolras looking at him.

“He’s just worried, you know,” Combeferre said. When Enjolras didn’t answer, he continued talking. “I’m sorry we couldn’t take you home. Courfeyrac’s was much closer, and we were worried you couldn’t manage a longer trip.”

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound caused by the splashing as Enjolras tried to clean himself. (He felt like no matter how hard he scrubbed, he would still be filthy, but at least the pain of skin rubbed raw was a distraction.)

After a long wait, Combeferre asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Just…don’t leave.” The thought of being alone right now made him feel like he couldn’t breathe.

“All right. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

**Author's Note:**

> What a way to break in my AO3 account! I'm open to any concrit/suggestions for improvement, as well as any other prompts of this nature you'd like to see written. A sequel is forthcoming!


End file.
